


Mary Had A Little Lamb

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: A WHOLE HECKIN LOT OF BLOOD OK, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Burns, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cauterization, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Consensual Non-Consent, Dark Fantasy, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Ghost Sex, Graveyard Sex, Hair-pulling, Knives, Mary Is A Reluctant Cat Dad, Mentions of Necrophilia, Name-Calling, Necrophiliac Thoughts, Occult, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Mary's been waiting for you at the graveyard.
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Mary Had A Little Lamb

The moon is just beginning to peek out from behind the clouds, shedding a silver beam of sheer light over the graveyard. Mist gathers around your ankles as you regard your surroundings. Some headstones are new, standing above dirt fresh enough to imagine rainwater washing a corpse's face up. Some on the other hand are ancient, beginning to crumble. Your boyfriend's (could you call him that if he was dead?) grave stood erected between the two categories. Not ancient, but had some moss growing into his chiseled full name and the year of his death: _1998_. You had offered to upkeep his grave yourself, cleaning any weeds or offending flora off his plot, but he explicitly instructed you not to. He wanted it to look as haunted as possible.

_Dumbass._

His is the lone tomb by the tree; shaped like a cross in life’s ever-present irony, and a name: Mary Goore. Due to his affinity for using occult magick to rise from beyond the grave, any animal who crossed over his plot died instantly, as was the unfortunate fate of an elderly stray black cat. The good news was, the cat had found Mary in the afterlife, and had now become the ghost cat of the cemetery. Speak of the devil, you feel phantom fur twist around your ankles.

"Evening, Cerecloth," you smirk. You sit down, light a couple of black pillar candles, and get out the old Ouija board. The sweet cat who really didn't deserve her violent name came back over to help you welcome her master. You whisper a couple words, and stretch out your legs on either side of the board. You look down, concentrate on waking his ass up, and see the dial move.

B-O-O.

Your eyes roll, and you hear a scratchy voice like nails on a chalkboard beside you.

"I could see up your skirt from down there, you know." You look up to see Mary lounging with one knee up on another gravestone. He gives a lopsided smile, takes a drag on the stub of a cigarette, and flicks it away, hopping down. The dead Swedish goth's silver tongue is well at work tonight, you see.

"You've got x-ray vision?" you ask.

"No. You just got your legs spread like a whore." He grins. “I liked seeing your pussy, though.” _Ever the charmer._ His gore glints in the moonlight as he approaches. The perpetually gruesome blood dripping down his face is from an accidental bludgeoning with a guitar his friends and bandmates thought had killed him. Unfortunately, he had just been unconscious, but due to whatever he had shot up that night, they hadn't been able to feel a pulse. He had been prematurely buried, hence the bloody fingertips and broken nails. You’ve asked him-- he doesn't regret his end, though he laments public mutilation hadn't been involved.

"You're in a rascally mood tonight," you comment. Cer hops up into Mary's arms, materialized fully. He scratches bloody fingers through her mangy fur.

"I'll say. You haven't visited in two weeks."

"I have a job and a life. I can't come to fuck a corpse 24/7, you know."

"Oh, darling. The only corpse getting fucked tonight will be yours." You look up, and he's gone.

"Mary?!" you call out, a bone-deep chill setting in. You take a few steps, and search down the path. Another breeze creates a small cyclone at your feet of dead overgrowth. You really shouldn't have worn a black bralette neglecting a leather jacket over top. "Hey!" you shout, and bite your lip. Something howls, leaves rustle. Fear begins to creep up on you, and you look around the dark cemetery, rubbing your arms. Normally, you felt right at home around the dead, but there's an uneasiness tonight that disturbs you. Something flashes behind a tree, and you hear an unearthly growl. You glance back, but it was just another vision. "Not funny! I think I just heard a werewolf!!" You hear nothing but silence and the breeze whistling by your ears, and real apprehension runs through you. Werewolves were the least of your worries when Mary was in one of his these moods. You can already tell tonight will end with you covered in more than one bodily fluid. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," you sing playfully, then cross your arms at the persistent lack of response. "Mary! Asshole! I'm cold!" You hear a twig snap behind you, and whip around. There's no one there, not even the cat. A shiver of adrenaline accompanies your fear. "Guess I'll just have to make myself comfortable..." You reach back to unlatch your bralette, and just as you unzip, hands grab yours from behind, jerking them away.

Your scream is cut short as teeth sink into your shoulder, hard enough to break skin. You fall to the ground, reaching a hand up to your bleeding wound, and look up to see Mary licking his lips like a starving hyena. His mouth is a bloody mess, and as he grins you can see the red in between his slightly crooked teeth. He beckons you up with one hand, but your lower lip quivers. You look so helpless on the ground, crawling away from him. He has to clutch himself through his tight jeans at the sight.

"Like a lamb to the slaughter," he chuckles darkly, advancing on you.

"What are you gonna do to me?" you stammer.

"I'm gonna fuck you like a ragdoll." His steps are faster than the speed at which you can crawl, and he grabs you by your wounded arm, hoisting you up.

"Mar," you whimper. He takes a deep breath of your scent, and digs his fingers into your shoulder wound.

"You like that?" he growls. You scream from his broken nails coaxing more rivulets of blood from your puncture. He grows bored fast when you go hoarse, and lets up right when stars appear at the peripherals of your vision. His tongue darts over his fingertips, savoring the taste of your flesh and blood as he would the juice between your thighs. "I'll be having more of that," he says, and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to distract yourself from the awful pain. This action catches Mary's attention.

His dilated pupils fixate on your swollen lower lip, and you think he's going to kiss you. Desperate for some care after that deluge of pain, you close your eyes and part your lips for him. You're jarred out of this state however, when he drags you over to the old tree by his grave, holding you against it. He turns you around, slams your back against the tree so hard you grimace. Finally he leans in, giving you the satisfaction you've been craving with his lips. He holds you by your shoulders tight as he delves into your mouth with his tongue. Mary never tastes like the corpse he is; just ash, with something particularly bitter. It's addictive. His hand on your wound makes you moan into the kiss, flesh stinging.

"Tell me how much you want it," he mumbles. As you go to tell him, he uses your open mouth as an opportunity to bite down hard into your lower lip, tearing deep. Your mind fills with a blinding haze from the shock, and you feel the trench between your gums and lips fill with blood.

"Mmph!" you blurt. Before you get your wits about you to swallow or spit it out, Mary shoves you down to your knees. You hadn't even realized he had his cock out, and by the look of the purple head in his fist, he had been stroking it through your kiss. He holds your wavering neck steady, and glances down to you. Satisfied you're still breathing, he thrusts into your mouth, a gasp falling from his lips at the warm fresh blood surrounding his dick. You groan around him, but don't get much time to enjoy it-- he grabs your hair and starts to buck relentlessly into your mouth. Closing his eyes, he gets lost in the sensations, scrunching his nose up with a hateful rasp.

"I want to slit your neck ear to ear and fuck your open throat," he spits, violently fucking into your mouth. It's almost too much, but that fine line is what you like about Mary. He could snap and break every bone in your body if he so wished, but that trust is what makes your connection stronger.

Fantasies rush through your mind, but you can't offer your side of the dirty talk at the moment or you'll choke on your own blood. Focusing on opening your throat for not only his dick but your air, you try to regain some composure. Mary slides all the way to the back of your throat. He looks down to see the blood dripping down your chin, and groans.

"Babygirl. I love that thing you do with your mouth." You look up at him in inquisition, and he elaborates with a growl. "I love it when you choke." To get him even hornier, you use every last bit of your energy to deepthroat him and make a fluttering motion with your throat. "Shit, shit, I'm going to fuckin' cum, FUCK!” His fingers tighten in your hair. “Jävlar herregud... have to..." He shoves you off of him, looking skyward as he squeezes the base of his throbbing cock. His neck muscles strain as he fights to keep himself at bay. While he's busy rediscovering his self control, you spit the remaining blood and saliva from your mouth, making a face. He looks down at you, standing tall over your fallen position, cock in hand. "Oh, no. No, no, little lamb. Save all that for what's coming next." He kneels down in front of you, and tenderly brushes your hair out of your face. "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you."

Not sparing you a moment to catch your breath, he stands you up and bends you over his tombstone. The cold, rough grave indents the flesh of your arms and chest, and he drags your skin against it as he pulls you back to fit against him. He tugs your panties down, and you feel his fingers gently tease your slick folds. Lulled into the false promise of his fingers inside you, you wiggle your ass back into him. In response, he takes out a switchblade, slashing a clear cut along your ass cheeks on both sides.

Your scream echoes, and your knees threaten to buckle from the pain, but Mary keeps a steadying hand on your back as he quickly cups the blood. He uses what has pooled in his palms to slather his dick in it, and leave the rest to cascade down your thighs, running down to soak into the dirt where his coffin lies six feet under. He spits onto your ass, rubbing it into the cuts and over his dick.

"Oh," you breathe, disoriented anguish etched into your features. You can barely speak or see due to the strain on your pain threshold, but the wanton sigh is enough to keep him going. His unzipped jeans are soon covered in your blood as you push back against him. He knows he has to make it fast or you'll pass out. He guides his tip to your entrance where you're clenching for him, enjoying the sight of your warm, living pussy, throbbing to the rhythm of your still-beating heart. Before thrusting into you, he rubs his spit slick fingers around your entrance.

"Look at this messy hole. Fucking messy bitch. So filthy, so fucking disgusting. _So perfect_." You whine, heartbeat hammering as he finally pushes all the way into you, and uses the still flowing blood to slowly bury one finger into your ass. You jolt, and he hushes you.

"Shh, ah. I know you can take it. My good filthy girl can take anything, huh? Take it in this pretty little cunt?" He gives your pussy a smack. If your answer had been in the negative, he would have known it by now, which is every indication that you need him to keep going. The arousal in his voice makes you clench desperately around his fingers and his cock. When you take a deep breath and push back, he gets the message to move, and pumps his finger in and out as his entire body thrashes with each hard thrust into you. "Little whore," he snaps. "You love feeling so full of me. If I could, I would fill your mouth again. Fill every hole in your body, every hole that I open up on you." He leans into your ear, snarling. "I'd stab you in the fucking guts and cum on your intestines." Your breath hitches, and he shudders as he pushes that fantasy down. "For now, I'd settle for fucking past those pretty lips, giving you a nice mouthful of cock again. Would you like that?”

You reach back blindly, grabbing his other unoccupied hand. You slowly suck his fingers into your mouth, and he fucks you harder, so eagerly he starts to hit your cervix. You grind your clit forward against the gravestone, the pleasure of your impending orgasm almost enough to eclipse the pain of your cut up body. The denim of his jeans makes the slices on your ass sting, but the friction of the stone against your clit mixed with the raw wounds hurts so good. Your blood loss is going to your head and creating a sensation comparable to a heroin high, reducing you to the only form of communication left: drooling in encouragement. He scoops more blood, and with the extra lubrication, adds a second finger into your ass. You arch your back up to an almost standing position, and the change in the angle slides his cock into your G-spot. You give a broken scream, body shaking and jolting in the mess, and he takes advantage of your position, ripping you up by the hair farther so his chest is flush with your back. "Yeah," you whimper softly, "There. Want you to get me dirty with your cum."

"It sounds like a fly is buzzing in my ear, but I can't seem to figure out what it is saying," he growls. You cry out.

"Mary, there! Right there!" He leans down and sucks on your dried shoulder wound, opening it back up again. He licks around the abused flesh, savoring the gore. His hips slow down in favour of deep, bruising pounds, his balls slapping against your cut up ass as he approaches his climax.

"Fu- ck... m- eee..." you moan, and he gives too deep pounds before releasing, blowing his load deep inside you with a guttural roar reminiscent of his death metal screams. Your breath stalls, head spinning, and you start to see stars. You're either dying or cumming, at this point unable to tell which, but you give in to it, beyond the capacity to care. He pulls out of you, thrusting his thumb into your quivering cunt as he fingers both holes. Like a cold bucket of water on your face in the middle of a nightmare, you feel the rush. Your orgasm finally provides you with shattering relief, and you scream as loud as you're able as you gush against the front of his jeans. Mary takes his fingers out, and quickly gets a lighter from his back pocket, taking his belt off as well.

"Quickly. Bite," he whispers softly, and you do so, holding his hand tight. He uncaps the vintage lighter with a faded Opeth logo, and brings the flame to your open cuts, successfully cauterizing them. Your voice is beyond hoarse by now, unable to raise your volume anymore. You croak out a nonsensical mumble as he tucks his lighter and his softening dick away, and he stands you up carefully. "Okay?" You nod, dreaming of the shower and the sweet dose of Advil waiting for you at home. "Was it good?" he asks. You smile. For a gross, cocky, sadistic motherfucker like him, he's awfully soft when all is said and done, and now he's standing before you like he'd just taken your virginity on a bed of rose petals.

"Yeah," you sigh. Despite the burning pain radiating from the tender areas he'd fucked with, you feel satisfied down to your bones as usual. You give him a sly smile, licking over your teeth. "You know you're the only one I cum for."

"That's because I fuck good," he grins. You pick up your ripped up clothing with a wince, raising your eyebrows at the forever young bloodbath before you.

"It's because I have a thing for cute death metal singers that happened to be dead." You kiss him on the cheek. "And you seem to be the only one in my area."

He places a hand over the cheek you had kissed. "I'm not cute." A ghoulish meow echoes, and you look down to see Cer circling his ankles. In an attempt to prove his point, Mary bares his teeth, making a scary face down at the old dead animal. She just stares up at him in utter adoration, responding to his display with a fond yowl. He deflates.

"When will you be back?" he asks, sticking his hand in your back pocket as you take a walk down the cemetery path. "It gets lonely jerking off in the coffin."

"Then jerk off above ground."

"Nah. Everyone in this boneyard has seen my dick by now, there’s no thrill in it any longer. Besides, there's an old lady across the path named Fauna, died of TB, raises hell when I jerk off in front of her."

"Where is she now?" you snort. "I can't imagine she'd stand by for what you just did to me."

"Oh, she's visiting Henry tonight, this cool old guy who died in the electric chair. She doesn't know he was a brutal fucking serial killer, but I'm not gonna tell her. They're sweet on each other." You smile at the enjoyment your boyfriend gets from cemetery politics.

"Well. When I can walk properly without limping, I'll think about visiting again," you smirk. "For now, have midnight tea with Fauna and Henry and get me invited to the wedding." You look over, and see a strange melancholy look under those bangs you've never seen before. He almost looks sad. "I could always... drag my poor, scarred-up ass back tomorrow night with some flowers." He scowls.

"Dip them in bleach first. I'm hardcore. A harbinger of death and the devil."

"I'll bring you a big bunch of daisies just ‘cause you said that."

"I'll set them on fire."

"You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“Hm. You know what’s absolutely crazy?”

“What?” you ask.

“I used to fuck dead people when I was alive. Now that I’m dead, I’m fucking a living person. That’s funny, that’s some funny shit.”

“I’m sorry, you did what when you were alive?”

His eyes widen a little. “Hey, don’t you have to be going? It’s nearly 5 am.”

You let it slip. “You’re probably right.”

You get back to his grave, and he leans into your ear. "I'll dream of this night, (y/n). Of catching you and cutting you up. Maybe one day, I'll do it for real... and eternally, you'll be mine.” You go to reply, but you notice that his hand is no longer in your back pocket. Standing alone, you look down the bloodstained gravestone of the skinny little Hot Topic edgelord who thinks you belong to him. You smile to yourself, tugging your skirt down. _He's right._

You limp back toward the gate to the cemetery, the rising dawn spreading orange along the iron pikes and making it look like the gates of hell. You notice the night guard approaching.

"Miss! Aw, hell. I knew I didn't hear no beast howling. _Goddamn goths gettin' up to no_... Miss, you're not supposed to be...!" His expression switches from annoyance to concern as he regards your gruesome injuries. "Lord in heaven! You okay, girl?!" You smirk his way, licking your bloodstained lips with nothing but a word of warning to offer:

"Hungry are the damned."


End file.
